


Tell Me This Is Real

by mellovesall



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A touch of supernatural, F/M, Halloween Sherlolly, NSFW, Sexy Times, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 10:38:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8324626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellovesall/pseuds/mellovesall
Summary: A Sexy Sherlolly AU with a touch of supernatural.  NSFW. Written for the Sherlolly Halloween At 221B Celebration hosted by @darnedchild and @lilsherlockian1975 on Tumblr.





	

Molly was beautiful as she lay spread out below him. She was everything Sherlock never knew he needed.

Her skin was alabaster white with a faint peach glow as she blushed with her mounting arousal. Her breasts, perfectly lush and soft as silk, rose and fell quickly in excitement as she stared at him through heavy lidded eyes while he looked his fill. She liked to watch him just as much as he liked to touch her.

Two distinctive and sexy as hell, beauty spots just above the curve of her left breast drew Sherlock’s lips and his tongue out to taste. He gave them a slow lick as her hips lifted and ground against his hardness. He was so close to coming and she was a wanton in his arms.

The rich, mahogany curls of her hair fanned out over his emerald green bed sheets. Her back arched and her legs spread wider as Sherlock slid into her tight scorching heat.

Her soft cries echoed in his mind as he woke to find himself gripping a painful hard-on and an all consuming need to see her and touch her….for real.

He tightened the hold on his dick and tried to stroke himself to oblivion, but it was no use. He wanted her. To breathe in her honeysuckle scent, hear her sighs and feel her shudders.

He had to rein in his imagination or he would simply go mad. These wet dreams were killing him. Each one becoming more detailed than the previous. He swore he could still smell her on his body. If only dreams could come true. He didn't dare think he could ever have her this way in real life, but she was all his...here.

He'd been officially dead one year and had tracked down his prey, Moriarty’s network, relentlessly for all that time. He was exhausted both physically and mentally and with his walls crumbling down...Molly came to him. She haunted his dreams with memories of her caring nature and her feelings for him. She cared about him. She wanted him. And he knew it. Knew it to his bones and in his heart.

He missed her. Her smile. Her banter. Her intelligence. He just missed, her.

#####

Those long, strong fingers, that drove her to pleasure so extreme and so intense that she woke every morning sweating and aching, were sensually stroking their way down the line of Molly’s back. They molded and worshiped her ass and smoothed down the quivering globes till they found her sopping, wet center. The callus that was on his thumb, that she assumed came from years of playing the violin, always, always took her over the edge with its carnal roughness.

She woke to find her body over sensitized and her soul longing for a man who she may never see again. She turned on her side and squeezed her thighs together attempting to squash her hunger for him and started to cry.

Why did she keep having these explicit dreams? They felt so real. He felt so real. Why did the memory of him have to torment her in the sexual haze of another plane when he already did on the one she lived in?

She missed him. The rude and impatient beautiful man.

#####

Sherlock came home when the leaves were turning burnt orange, gold and red as blood. The chill in the air heralded the arrival of Fall.

He arrived back in London to find no one where they were supposed to be.

Mycroft's car dropped him off at a home he did not recognize, but where music and laughter was spilling out of. Dark silhouettes of party goers could be seen through the windows as he stood on the sidewalk, scared, yet eager to go in.

A drunk werewolf stumbled out the front door with his arm around the Bride of Frankenstein. The merriment of Halloween was one he tolerated in others, but never partook in.

He walked up the stairs making his way to the apartment he was told John shared with his girlfriend. And at the top of the landing a Cleopatra, with heavy eyeliner that framed interested eyes, kissed his cheek before handing him a glass of wine. He declined, producing a pout on her lips that would rival many of his own.

Laughter, that was familiar and dear to him, stroked across his body and his dick instantly hardened. Molly.

God, he needed to see her. He turned towards the sound that caressed his ears and through the open apartment door he saw her.

His Molly.

She was dressed as a vampire and she was stunning. His eyes took in every inch of her. Her beloved curls were down and her eyes were highlighted by smokey, black makeup and her lips, those plump lips that had taken him in so deeply as she sucked on him in his dreams, were painted a decadent candy apple red. Her body was encased in a figure hugging velvet dress with a v-neck that plunged and lovingly displayed the breasts he had dreamt of for years.

He suddenly went still. How? He did not understand. They were only in his imagination. He stood transfixed as two beauty spots on her left breast screamed at him from across the room.

She danced seductively to the pounding music. Her hips swaying slowly and her eyes closed as she danced with an invisible partner.

His disbelief and confusion was quickly replaced by longing. He couldn't stop himself from striding right towards her. He needed to touch her or he would die.

#####

Molly was into her second glass of red wine as was appropriate for her choice in Halloween character, she internally joked with herself. Her body moved to the sexy lyrics of the song playing and she closed her eyes. An image of Sherlock, sweaty and straining above her as he erotically pushed harder and deeper into her as they made love, flashed behind her eyelids.

She groaned out loud as her lower body instantly grew wet and ready for a man she would never have.

“Molly,” a low, deep voice she had missed so very much said her name.

She opened her eyes to see the beautiful face of Sherlock Holmes. Was he real? She couldn't believe he was there. Was he home?

She took him all in. Making sure he was okay and not hurt.

He just stood in front of her, watching, with those incredible eyes of his. His personal energy still as vibrant as she remembered and emanating from his slim body. She wanted to touch him the way she did in her dreams, but that wasn't allowed. It wasn't real.

She closed her hand into a tight fist so as not to reach for him.

He reached for her instead. He lifted her fisted hand to his lips, his calloused thumb stroking across her knuckles, and kissed it.

Her heart stopped. How could she have known about his callous? Those dreams were just her imagination. How?

She must of spoken out loud because Sherlock said, “I don't know how. But I had them, too,”

“So many of them, Molly Hooper. So many,” he whispered as he pulled her close and took those succulent lips in a kiss that was more incredible than any dream.


End file.
